


(un)controllable

by danno



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, Child Abuse, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Gen, How did I forget that, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shock Collars, Slow Burn, Sort of? - Freeform, Worldbuilding, and i mean slow slow burn, basically weapons are treated like objects/slaves, for now, forgot to mention that weapons wear shock collars, more characters will show up later, not respecting someone's pronouns, objectifying, this gets fucked up y'all i'm sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25159243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danno/pseuds/danno
Summary: In one world, weapons and meisters were partners. Equals in every way.This is not that world.
Relationships: Maka Albarn & Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans
Comments: 38
Kudos: 46





	1. is that blood in your eyes or are your eyes made of blood?

**Author's Note:**

> this actually started out as a joke pokemon au between me and my friend where meisters were trainers and weapons were pokemon. then we said "but what if sad" and it escalated so far beyond a pokemon au.
> 
> i'll try to explain most everything within the story itself, but if things are too confusing or need extra clarification, let me know in the comments and i'll be sure to change that!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first meetings. they don't go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maka isn't trying very hard, and soul isn't cooperative.

Maka walked into the D.W.S. with a small but confident grin on her face. She knew exactly why she was there and it showed. Heads turned, but were quick to turn away again when they realized she wasn't too interesting to look at. She met the eyes of the employee at the front desk, making sure to smile wider as she slapped down her thick folder of documents.

“One scythe, please!” she said, the cheer in her tone entirely real. From the raised eyebrow the receptionist gave her, it probably didn’t sound like it.

“Please take a seat while I certify your credentials,” they said, dragging the papers toward them. “It may take a while, so please be patient.” Maka nodded, turning around to take a seat, and pretended not to hear the long-suffering sigh the agent let out. She was in too good of a mood to be upset over the wait or the bad service.

Just a week prior, she’d finally had her sixteenth birthday, rendering her eligible for a weapon partner. She’d wanted to find one the day of, but her parents talked her down together, walking her through the process of getting her official meister license so she could put the weapon under her name instead of her mother's. She received her license the day before and cleared her schedule for the next week to look for the perfect partner. Technically, sixteen was the age where people were legally allowed to _start_ practicing for a license and eighteen was when they could apply for missions and go out into the field on their own, but everyone knew parents taught their kids long before that and nobody was particularly inclined to care.

Her dad often let her practice with him, but he was a scythe, not a scythe _meister._ Her mother tried to help, but there was only so much she could do when they only saw each other three or four times a year. By now, Maka was more self-taught than anything.

She sat down on one of the plastic chairs, pulling a book out of her bag and opening to the bookmarked page. She’d anticipated the wait, so of course she prepared for it. Though she didn’t tend to think much in the heat of the moment, she learned to anticipate her own thoughtlessness and made sure to prepare ahead of time for her own decisions.

It was only ten minutes later that her name was called, and she snapped her head up, stuffing the book into her bag (oh, she forgot to bookmark her page) and jumping to her feet. The employee who probably didn’t read the entire folder directed her through the back door, passing her a black slip of paper. They told her to give it to one of the handlers and they’d help her find what she was looking for, and she gave them a smile and a wave as she nearly skipped deeper into the building.

There was a handler waiting just beyond the second door, a tall, muscular man with cornrows and a severe expression. His nametag read “Sid”, though it was attached to the white bandanna around his head instead of his shirt. He didn’t give her a chance to speak before he held out his hand, and she obediently gave him the paper, a beaming smile on her face.

“I really hope you have a scythe on hand, because this is the fourth shelter I’ve been to today and none of the other ones had one,” she sighed. He grunted, peering at her over the paper.

“Makes sense, they’re pretty rare. Yeah, we have one. Wouldn’t have sent you back here if we didn’t, the receptionist would’ve let you know. Can’t recommend it though, been taken home and returned more times than any other weapon here. But if you’re still interested, I’ll show it to you anyway. That’s the kind of man I am.” At her eager nod, he turned and strode off down the hall. She had to half jog to catch up to him. She peered at the many barred enclosures they passed with fascination, thrown by how _normal_ the weapons looked. If it weren’t for the thin iron bands around their throats, she could’ve passed them on the streets and thought they were human.

They were almost to the very end of the row when Sid finally stopped. Maka nearly ran into his back, distracted as she was with the weapons. He grabbed for his belt, keys jangling as he searched for the right one. Maka peered through the bars, spying a glimpse of white hunched in the corner.

“It’s part of my job to warn you if you’re thinking about getting a weapon considered dangerous,” Sid said, going through the entire ring of keys once again when he didn't find what he was looking for. “Like I said before, this one’s been in and out a lot. Nobody can seem to get a handle on it. Even with the heavy-duty suppressors, it makes trouble. So if this is the one you decide to take home, be careful and watch your back. Don’t let it out of your sights.”

“I won’t.” Maka nodded solemnly, feeling a flutter in her chest as he found the right key and fit it into the lock. It turned with a heavy _clunk_ _,_ and he pulled the door open wide, waving for her to walk in. And walk in she did.

She made a beeline for the white-haired weapon curled in the corner, feeling her smile grow the closer she got. She knew ever since her mother placed her father’s snath in her hands that she was meant to have a scythe for a weapon. It didn’t even have anything to do with her father being a scythe. All that mattered was following in her mother’s footsteps and becoming the next generation’s brightest scythe meister, making her parents proud.

“Hello!” She paused in front of the weapon, crouching down so they were face to face. It peeked at her over its arms, eyes blood red and lacking pupils. “My name is Maka! I’ve been looking for a scythe weapon for a long time now, and you’re the first one I found. So it looks like I’ll be taking you home today!” She paused, waiting for a response other than a blank, unnerving stare. It scoffed and tucked its face into its knees again. A dismissal if she’d ever seen one. Her smile twitching, she stood up, trotting to the door and returning with a band strapped to her wrist. She didn’t miss how those strange red eyes locked onto it from under its messy fringe.

“Listen. I only just now found you, so I really don’t want to have to go this far yet. Can’t we be civil for at least a day first?” Its gaze darted back to her face, studying her for a long moment.

And then it _laughed_ _,_ dry and humorless and breathless.

“Sure. As soon as you take this thing off.” It tilted its head back, baring its throat. Despite herself, Maka grimaced at the sight. Unlike the more modern, streamlined bands that could almost pass for chokers, the scythe’s band was thick and clunky and obviously heavy, complete with matching ones around its wrists. Whoever designed it obviously didn’t have convenience or comfort on their mind. At the sight of scratched, bloodied skin around it, she almost felt pity. It probably had the same restraints since it was young.

“Ha, ha. Nice try. The only way you’re getting that thing off is if you’re a corpse.” She rolled her eyes, holding her hand out to it. “Now get up, I’m taking you home. Don’t try anything.” She added the last part because of the spark of defiance she saw in its eyes, true to the warning she was given. As she watched, they rolled back at her.

“Fine, whatever. Let’s get this over with.” It took her hand, pulling itself up. She was surprised to see it was nearly the same height as her, if not an inch or two taller. It wasn’t fully grown yet like she assumed from its raspy voice. Maybe it was even the same age as her, she’d have to check later. She turned to leave the stale old cell, feeling a thrill in her chest when she heard quiet footsteps follow behind her.

“I think this one will do,” she told Sid with a smile. He nodded back, looking not quite at her but over her shoulder.

“The receptionist will talk prices with you,” he said. “And remember, you can return the weapon at any time in any condition for any reason and we’ll give you a full refund, no questions asked. That’s the kind of business we are.” He took a packet from a shelf attached to the wall, passing it to her. “That’s all the info you'll need for your new weapon. If you have any questions or concerns, it has our number in there, too. We’ll do our best to help.” Then he leaned closer, lowering his voice so only she could hear. “And remember to _be careful._ This one’ll bite your throat out if you give it the chance.”

“I’ll be okay, thank you.” Maka stepped around him with a laugh. “Bye, Mr. Sid! Thank you for your help!” He waved at her, and she strolled back to the lobby with the scythe right on her heels. She could feel it staring, burning red-hot holes into the back of her head. She knew what it was probably thinking. She was just a dumb, skinny brat, right? It could probably take her and escape, right?

Wrong.

Oh, so very wrong.

Unsurprisingly, she ended up forking over quite a bit of cash at the desk before they let her sign the official ownership documents. Scythes were rare, she knew that, but it didn’t stop her from frowning and muttering bitterly about the price. She wasn’t wanting for much, but she wasn’t swimming in yen, either. But ultimately, the documents were signed and the fees were paid, and by the time she walked out of the building fifteen minutes later, the white-haired shadow at her shoulder officially, _legally_ belonged to her.

She beamed the entire way home, neither ignoring nor acknowledging the silently spiteful eyes on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maka gets better eventually, don't worry! i know she's a bit of a bitch right now, but bear with me. she's learning.


	2. huh? why would you ask who i am if you didn't want to know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> little bit of get to know you, and maka doesn't like what she gets to know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhh not much to be warned abt here that wasn't touched upon in chapter one, so ig just the whole "weapons are objects and maka calls soul it/its" thing is all you need to worry about

“So! Tell me about yourself.” Maka tossed herself down on the tiny couch, throwing the folder on the coffee table and kicking her feet up on the armrest. When the weapon gave her a flat look, she gestured grandly at the floor, raising an eyebrow right back. With a huff, it sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back on its hands.

“What’s there to tell you?” it borderline growled, baring its teeth. She hadn’t even noticed how sharp they were before. Like a shark’s, she thought. “You’ll take me back in a week anyway. Doesn’t matter what I say.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Then it shouldn’t matter if you tell me anything, right? Besides, if I’m gonna have you stay here, I wanna know what I’m allowing into my house.” It rolled its head on its neck, letting out an exaggerated groan. It kept its cheek on its shoulder as it met her gaze.

 _"Maybe_ I’d feel more inclined to share if you called me a _who_ and not a _what,"_ it said. “So I can turn into a weapon, big fuckin’ whoop. I’m still a person.” Its glare sharpened, crimson eyes drilling into her own. “And I go by he, not it.” Maka didn’t bother to stop herself from scoffing. Its expression darkened even further.

“Not really what I had in mind when I told you to tell me about yourself. I didn’t ask for deceit. Just tell me your name, where you came from, and how old you are. Stuff like that.”

“What, you can’t read my file and figure it out yourself?”

“I _can,_ but I wanted to hear it from you. A meister has to earn trust and respect and all that to minimize chances of lashing out and betrayal. And that’s easier to do if I let you tell me things yourself.” She shrugged. “Would you prefer me reading the file instead?” The look on its face said everything, though its mouth stayed shut. “That’s what I thought. Just answer my questions like a good weapon, okay? I really do want us to get along if you’re going to be working for me.”

“You make it sound like I’m doing this voluntarily,” it said lowly. She held back a sigh, already knowing where it was going with this. “I’m not _working_ for you. This isn’t a _job_ to me. It’s slavery. You’re treating people like objects.”

“We’re treating objects like objects,” she corrected, trying to sound patient. “I did my research, I’m not stupid. Weapons aren’t humans, they’re just imitations of them. Pretty much no better than computers and AIs. Most of the time, their cells aren’t even organic, meaning they’re not really _alive._ They act human, but that’s only because they copied humans as a defense mechanism. Kind of like how some animals and bugs look toxic when they’re actually not so they don’t get eaten, or how some birds put their eggs in other birds’ nests. _And_ my dad is a weapon. I know what I’m talking about.”

“Then doesn’t that make you half weapon, too?” it said, and she wrinkled her nose.

“Hardly. My mom never had a kid with _him._ He’s my step-dad, I guess. My real dad died before I was born, so my mom decided to marry her Death Scythe so he’d protect me even if she died on the job. Then she went off on a bunch of work trips, so my dad was mostly the one who raised me and helped teach me to be a scythe meister.”

“Interesting,” it said, and she could see its blade in its eyes. “So why is it _he_ gets to be treated like a human and not me? What’s the difference between us? What makes me an object and him human?” She immediately prickled, puffing up and shooting it the most terrible glare in her arsenal. She huffed, opening her mouth to retort. Then closed it. Then opened it again. Then gritted her teeth.

“Shut up,” she snapped, _hating_ the way it smirked at her. Like it won somehow. She dropped her feet to the floor, standing so she towered over the tricky thing on the floor. “I’m the one asking questions here, not you. Don’t talk to me like you know anything, because you don’t. Quit trying to manipulate me to sympathize with you because I’m not going to fall for it. Now answer. My. Questions.” She brought her hand to her wrist, resting her thumb on the button and watching the weapon’s smirk drop. It must have severely underestimated her if it thought it could sway her with a few plaintive words. A tense moment passed as she impatiently tapped her thumb.

“Soul Evans,” it said finally, looking at her arm. “But my parents disowned me when I was a kid, so I go by Soul Eater. I’m sixteen years old, and I’m from out of state. Can’t remember where.” That explained the very slight accent, at least. And just as she suspected, it was the same age as her. 

“Soul Eater,” she said, testing it on her tongue. It felt strange. “Good name for a weapon, even if it’s a little on-the-nose.” She took her hand away from the button, sitting on the couch again and crossing her legs at the knee. She watched the scythe relax, dragging its eyes to her face. Its expression wasn’t kind. “What were your parents like?” She didn’t think the weapon’s face could get any more hostile, but it did.

“Rich,” it said shortly. “Really rich. And paranoid.” A few seconds passed before it became clear that’s all it was willing to say. She let out a long breath through her nose, willing her temper to cool. Technically, it answered the question.

“What about any other family? Did you have any siblings?” she prodded. Research had proved that if one child turned out to be a weapon, almost ninety percent of the time, their siblings were weapons as well. And out of _that_ percentage, a little over half turned out to be the same kind of weapon. If she decided to return Soul Eater to the D.W.S., she wanted a lead on finding her next scythe.

“I had a brother,” the weapon said after a moment of pause. “Older by eight years. He looked like me, but without these.” It hooks its thumb on its bottom lip, pulling it down to expose its fangs. Once she involuntarily showcased how disturbed she was, it let go, one side of its mouth twitching up. “He wasn’t a weapon. If he was, he hid it pretty damn well. I haven’t heard from him in twelve years, though.” Which, well. Since it was only sixteen, she easily assumed it hadn’t spoken to him since it was disowned. She almost felt sorry for him. It must have been hard to find out the younger brother he was supposed to protect was a monster.

“Are we done here? Can I go?” the scythe asked loudly before she could think of another question, leaning back on its hands. At her look, it sniffed. “I don’t know about you _organic_ humans, but I’d rather not stay covered in blood any longer than I have to.” It shifted its weight to one hand, tipping its head and gesturing at the band around its throat. Maka looked away.

“I guess we can finish this later,” she muttered, climbing to her feet. “I’ll have to get you new clothes, too. For now, I’ll allow you to use some of mine.”

 _"Most_ kind of you,” the scythe drawled, straightening up. “Am I right in guessing that you’re gonna be watching? Y’know, to make sure I don’t do anything _naughty?”_ She paused on her way to her room, glancing back at it with a furrowed brow. And then once she fully processed the implications, her cheeks _burned._ She nearly sprinted the last few steps to her door, slamming it behind her. She could hear the weapon’s mocking laughter through it.

Furious and disquieted, she brought her wrist close to her face, twisting the dial to the second lowest setting before she pressed the button. The laughter abruptly cut off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maka sweetie you're not doing too good at making him like you 


	3. maybe you should have let me do the cooking, stupid.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maka and soul work out some sort of dynamic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyyy it's. been a hot minute. there's a bit of a timeskip between the last chapter and this one, maybe a couple weeks or so. nothing too big.

He would at least admit that she was better than a lot of previous meisters he had. She was better because she fed him, let him sleep on the couch, and never touched him if she could help it. It was better than others who made sure he knew who he belonged to _(_ _you don’t get to tell me no, whore)_ and the ones who kept him alive, but only just _(_ _why are you looking at me like that? pets only get pet food, you’re lucky i give you anything at all)_ and the ones who refused to let him touch any of the furniture _(_ _the floor is good enough for a wretched_ thing _like you)._ Still, for all the pros, there were plenty of cons to go with it.

Unlike the other teenage girl who tried to impress her will on him a few owners ago, she wasn’t scared of him. She didn’t seem to be scared of anything. Instead of withering or bursting into tears and calling for her parents to deal with him, she met his glares with ones of her own, finger ever-presently hovering over that damned button. She didn’t often press it, but he still looked away on the off-chance that she would. 

Then there was her stubbornness. It was terrible for more reasons than one. She knew his name, but insisted on calling him “scythe”, “weapon”, or his least favorite one, “partner”. Like they were comrades. She knew he hated her, but continued to act like he was being unreasonable, like he should be _grateful_ she treated him the way she did. And sure, he was glad she wasn’t entirely awful, but he wasn’t anywhere near grateful. She knew he felt pain, sadness, hurt, anger, happiness, fear. Everything a human felt.

But she still.

Called. 

Him.

_It._

He knew some people were comfortable being called “it”, but he wasn’t one of them. He preferred “he” and “him” and would even accept “they”. Being called “it” was just a reminder that he didn’t have any say over what he was called because he wasn't worth that respect.

He wasn’t a scientist and he never would be. A lack of education, support, and rights would do that to a person. But even he knew that the belief - _her belief_ \- of weapons being imitations, parasites that replaced a baby in the womb and took on human form to blend in and garner sympathy and safety so they could thrive, was bullshit. If he could turn into an animal like a cute cat or a fish or something, they’d probably call it a freak mutation, but they’d at least treat him like a person. Maybe. But since his other form was a scythe, an _object,_ he was inhuman. A tool. A weapon.

A thing.

It was as hilarious as it was sickening how oblivious “normal” people were to how hypocritical they acted. Weapons could have names, likes and dislikes, friends, enemies, thoughts, emotions, everything that made a human what they were. They _acknowledged_ how human weapons could be, and yet still turned around and called them mere objects. Reveled in and admired their human-like appearance and behavior, yet still treated them like pets. Enjoyed the human things they could provide, like conversation and cooking and cleaning and sex, but conveniently forgot everything else human about them.

And Maka Albarn was a prime example of that contradiction.

As much as he despised her, he couldn’t blame her. It was how she was raised. He knew he couldn’t change her mind, couldn’t sway her from the beliefs she’d had since childhood, and he didn’t really try. He said enough to confuse and piss her off, never pushing when it really counted. He did push, once. She electrocuted him for that. All about logic, but not about reason.

Not when it came from him.

He was watching her go about her business from the floor of the kitchen, inwardly grinning every time she stepped over his legs with a huff. He was enough in the way that it was annoying, but not enough that she’d snap at him. He’d learned her limits quickly. He always did whenever he was shuffled off to a new meister. He figured out what buttons he could push and which ones he couldn’t. Otherwise, they’d push his least favorite button in the world.

She was cooking for the first time since he’d arrived, and if he was being honest, she didn’t seem to be doing all that great. She was too impatient, pouring the dried noodles into the water before it fully boiled, checking the temperature every few minutes to make sure it was still on when the noodles didn’t immediately soften. He almost wanted to remind her that she left the dipping sauce unprepared and didn’t get a strainer for the soba once it was finished.

Almost.

He rubbed his thumb over his collar and watched her pick out individual noodles to test if they were ready, and the first one crunched so loud he could hear it, even across the room like he was. He didn’t bother hiding his grin, but he knew he wouldn’t get away with a laugh. That wasn’t something he was going to test, especially when she looked at him so indignantly and raised her wristband at him. She didn’t look satisfied with the second, either, but the third was apparently good enough. 

It was _really_ funny to watch when she realized she didn’t have a strainer waiting in the sink while holding the pot of noodles. Less funny when she turned to him with a scowl so upset he was sure she would’ve zapped him if her hands weren’t occupied.

“Get me the strainer,” she snapped. “Cabinet to the right of the stove. Now.” He huffed and made a big, slow show of standing up, but ultimately fetched the strainer before she got too worked up. He didn’t expect a thank you and he didn’t get one. She dumped the noodles as soon as she could, a good few missing entirely and making a break for the drain. He went back to his spot on the floor, pulling his legs up to rest his elbows on as he watched.

“Shit, I don’t have any cold water,” she said despite standing right at the sink, and he had to hold his nose so he wouldn’t snort.

Eventually, she worked out how to rinse the noodles with cold water while they were still in the strainer, turning it under the faucet and shifting them by hand so no warm spots would be left over. She made him get her a plate once she deemed them finished, bringing them to the table, then stood for an entire twelve seconds once she realized the dipping sauce was nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s still in the fridge,” he reminded her, and she looked so royally offended he had to allow himself _one_ little laugh. He’d probably pay for it later, but. Totally worth it.

He moved to lounge at the table while she pouted over the sauce, plucking noodles while her back was turned. He knew she had no intention to share, not when she was so adamant about putting it all on one plate even though he got the smallest he could find so they were piled into a tiny mountain, hanging off the edges. They were plain, but it brought him smug satisfaction to do even the slightest rebellious act and get away with it. By the time she sat down across from him with her sauce, he was debating on if she’d notice or not. She didn’t, but scowled at him anyway.

“Off,” she demanded, pointing at him with her disposable chopsticks stolen from a Chinese restaurant. “You don’t get to sit at the table. You know that.” She didn’t wait for him to obey before she started eating. He bared his teeth and slunk down to the floor under the table, making as much of a fuss as possible and banging his wristbands against everything he could just for the sake of being noisy. He almost regretted it when the metal dug into his already bruised arm, but kept an apathetic face when Maka bent to narrow her eyes at him. 

“You’re stupid,” she said.

“And you’re rude,” he said back. Two months ago, his last meister would have zapped him to unconsciousness for that. Maka didn’t even deign him with a response, focusing on her noodles and slurping so needlessly loud that he knew she was only doing it to be obnoxious. He decided to focus on flicking floor crumbs at her socks.

Soon enough, Maka finished, standing up and pushing her chair in and nearly hitting him with it. He stayed where he was, raising an eyebrow when Maka moved around the table and crouched down so they were at eye level with each other. She had the plate in hand, still with a few noodles and the cup of sauce shoved next to them.

“You can have the leftovers since I hate having leftovers and I don’t want them to go to waste,” she said, nudging a chair aside to squeeze the plate through to him. He took it. “You can eat right there since you laughed at me earlier. Wash the dishes when you’re done, I’m taking a bath.” She straightened up again, turning to leave. The second she was out of sight, he climbed into the chair he vacated earlier, finishing off the noodles.

He left the dishes in the sink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's kinda short and rough. i have a lot of things i want to address in this story and i don't like drawing things out for too long so i'm speedrunning a bit while also somehow slowrunning it by not updating for months on end.
> 
> hrnn.


	4. an enemy of the friend of my enemy is my friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> maka decides it's time to bring the friend group together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> same warnings for the rest of the chapters. 
> 
> also, hey! i made an ask blog for this au! shoot me an ask if you want to, i don't bite!
> 
> soul does, though. 
> 
> https://ask-uncontrollable-au.tumblr.com/

“We’re seeing a friend of mine today,” she said, standing before the scythe with her arms crossed. It glanced up from the book on its lap that she was sure it couldn’t even read.

“M'kay. Have fun with that. I’ll be a good boy.” It turned the page. Maka’s eyebrow twitched.

 _“We._ As in, you’re coming with me because I don’t trust you home alone. So go take a shower and change into something cooler than that, I don’t want you embarrassing me.” It gave a dismissive grunt, waving a hand at her, and she briefly wondered if this was how people felt when they tried to talk to her while she was reading. She stepped forward, slipping her hands under the cover of the book and clapping it closed on its thumb. The weapon made an indignant sound, finally lifting its head. _“Now._ We’re leaving in thirty minutes.” 

Even though she knew it would, it still surprised her when it actually listened, albeit with muttered complaints and mean looks. It had been four weeks, which was much longer than it said it would take for her to bring it back, and it hardly raised a finger in rebellion. Everything pointed to it being a difficult, disobedient weapon she’d have to watch like a hawk. The man at the shelter, Sid, said it acted up more than any other weapon he’d seen. The weapon itself said it would make her bring it back. The sneers and growls it gave her proved that it hated doing what it was told, but it still did it anyway.

There was something worrying about that.

Fifteen minutes later, it found her again as she was tying her hair up, dressed in marginally better clothes with its hair still dripping wet. She huffed, shoving it back into the bathroom and scrubbing at its head with a towel while it hissed and grumbled.

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to shower with these things on?” it said, knocking its wristbands together with a horrible clanging noise. “No, you don’t. Because you’re _human.”_ She could tell by the way it dragged out the last word, voice wavering up and down, that it was mocking her. She rolled her eyes, leaving the towel on its head as she dragged it back out to the living room and pushed it down onto the couch.

“Stay here while I finish get ready,” she ordered, then flitted off to wash her face and find her favorite socks. It didn’t take long at all, and when she came back, it was exactly where she left it, head tilted back and towel pulled over its face. She plucked it off and tossed it on the coffee table, propping her hands on her hips. It slowly blinked its eyes open and squinted at her, then gave a contagious yawn that she almost caught.

“Stop sleeping and get up, it’s time to go," she said snippily. "He’s probably waiting for us already, we wasted too much time getting ready.”

“Weren’t we waiting on you?” it said, rubbing its knuckle over its eye as it pushed itself up to its feet. She slid the headband she grabbed from her bathroom over its head, pushing back its blindingly white bangs to give it at least a semblance of order and ignoring the way its nose crinkled. As she learned last week, trying to brush it somehow made it _worse._ She had to stuff a beanie over the frizzy, gravity-defying mess she’d turned it into. Hopefully, the headband would be enough to at least consider it presentable. 

She had to slap its hand away from its head twice.

It wasn’t long at all before they were off, walking quickly to make up for lost time. The weapon stayed a few steps behind her, muttering quiet enough that she couldn’t make out the words but she _knew_ it was complaining. She didn’t much care, though. She had a place to be and not enough time to get there and even if she punished it, it would only continue to complain inside its own head.

They made it to the basketball court three minutes late, which she blamed Soul for. It kept lagging behind and she had to yank at its arm to make it keep up. Just as she thought, Kid was already there with his weapons, fussing over the shorter one’s hat. She still didn’t understand why he let (or made?) his weapons dress like strange cowgirls, but she didn’t say a word about it as she lifted her hand in a wave, hurrying over. Kid spotted her soon enough, abandoning the hat to watch her approach.

“Sorry to make you wait for me,” she said once she was close enough. “I got caught up getting ready, and then my weapon was making things difficult on the way here-”

“It’s alright, no harm done,” said Kid, waving his hand and giving her a thin smile. She smiled back. “I don’t think you’ve shown me your new weapon yet, have you? You’ve talked about it, but…” She took the hint, taking a step back and dragging her weapon closer by the arm. She was surprised it didn’t immediately yank away, its gaze sullenly fixed ahead.

“Its name is Soul Eater! I’m sorry I never brought it before, I wasn’t sure it was behaved enough yet. I’m still not sure, but… I guess we’ll see.” Kid nodded slowly, looking her weapon up and down with unhappy eyes. She glanced over at Soul, feeling a slight pang of embarrassment. It was glaring right back at her friend, slouching and unsymmetrical and embodying nearly everything she knew Kid hated. She tightened her grip on its arm, shaking it roughly until it turned its glare to her.

“I can see why you didn’t think it was behaved enough,” Kid said dryly. “I’m surprised you let it look at you that way. If it were mine, I would have punished them already.” Her weapons’ eyes flicked away, grazing over the two hovering at Kid’s back. They had their eyes on the ground, hands clasped together, and didn't acknowledge their fellow weapon.

“I know,” Maka sighed. “I want to give it a chance to be good before I resort to that. It’s a new environment, so it’s bound to be a little nervous.”

“You could stop talking about me like I’m not here, y’know,” Soul said, turning its gaze back to her, and Kid’s eyebrows raised up to his hairline. “Shouldn’t I get a say in this?” Kid’s stare meaningfully moved down to Maka’s wrist, and she grimaced. She’d been hoping to avoid using it at all, but she couldn’t exactly let her weapon get away with acting like it had any authority over her, _especially_ in front of Kid. She let its arm drop from her grip, tilting her wrist towards herself and holding down the button for a good two seconds without looking at the setting. With how close it was standing, she felt it flinch. Curiously enough, Kid’s weapons flinched with it, though their eyes never raised from their feet.

“Sorry,” Maka apologized again with a sheepish grin. Kid stared. “It’s usually not _this_ disobedient. It’s because it’s meeting someone new for the first time, I’m sure.” There was a wordless hiss beside her, but all she had to do was hover over the button again for it to quiet.

“It’s alright, I understand.” Kid gave a short dip of his head. “My weapons were quite similar when my father first gave them to me. I at least had his help in training them, so I can hardly judge. I’m not going to tell you how you should discipline your weapon, but maybe we can trade notes later? I can give you a few tips my dad taught me. I know this is your first time owning one.” She brightened.

“Oh, that would be a huge help, thank you!” She practically bounced in place before she stilled herself, clearing her throat. “A-anyway, enough weapon talk! Black Star is waiting for us at the court, isn’t he? We should probably get going before he comes to find us.” She could see the twitch in Kid’s eye at the mention of Black Star, but he smiled and nodded politely either way.

“I’ll lead the way,” he said. He didn’t wait for an answer before he swished around and trotted off, every step carefully even. Maka scurried after him, glancing back to make sure the weapons were following like they should. It wasn't long before she heard a hushed conversation start up behind her. She tried to ignore it, but it wasn't long before she heard her own name, spat out of her weapon's mouth like venom, and, well. Kid had already taught her that she was going too easy on her weapon. She didn't turn back as she twisted the dial up a notch, pressing down for a good, long while. She couldn't help but smile to herself when she heard it cut itself off with a gasp, footsteps faltering as it stumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels too filler-y for my liking, but i wanted to introduce another meister/weapon(s) relationship so y'all could compare maka and soul with what's considered a "normal" relationship between meisters and weapons. i'll elaborate more next chapter, probably.


End file.
